Forest Kingdom Trilogy 1 - Blue Moon Rising

'We can't hope to fight our way back through the darkness, but there isn't time to go round it. One way or another, we have to convince the High Warlock to return with us.'
    Rupert nodded tiredly. 'Get the men ready to move out, sir Champion. One more mile, and then perhaps we can rest for a while.'
    'Rest?' said the Champion. 'At the Dark Tower?'
    'Right,' said the unicorn, moving in beside them. 'From what I've heard of this Warlock, we might have been safer in the Darkwood. Just how powerful is the High Warlock anyway?'
    'Hopefully, powerful enough to stop the demons in their tracks and banish the darkness,' said Rupert.
    'But how far can we trust him?'
    'About as far as you can spit into the wind.'
    'Great,' said the unicorn. 'Absolutely bloody wonderful. Why don't we all just kill ourselves now, and get it over with quickly?'
    'Come on,' said Rupert affectionately, taking the unicorn's reins in his hands. 'You'll feel better once we're moving.'
    'Don't put money on it,' growled the unicorn. 'I have a bad feeling about this.'
    Rupert shrugged. 'Legends don't impress me as much as they used to. The High Warlock left the Court when I was very young, but I can still remember the wonderful fireworks he made for my fifth birthday party. The rockets that flared against the night, and the Catherine wheels that looked like they'd spin for ever. He told me stories, and tried to teach me card tricks. You were at Court even then, sir Champion, you must have known him. What was he really like?'
    The Champion hefted his war axe, his eyes cold and distant.
    'He was a traitor, Sire. A traitor, a coward and a drunk.'

    Rupert stumbled doggedly on through the freezing slush, head down to keep the sleet out of his eyes.
    The wind howled around him, tugging at his hood and cloak and buffeting him from every side. Rupert growled and cursed and hung on tightly to the unicorn's reins. Every third step he looked at his right hand to make sure the reins were still there. The cold had taken all the feeling from his fingers, despite his thick gloves, and he didn't want to get separated from the unicorn. Rupert slowly raised his head and peered slit-eyed into the rising storm. There was still no sign of the Dark Tower.
    And last month it was still summer, he thought disgustedly. What the hell's happened to the weather?
    He staggered and almost fell as the raging wind changed direction yet again, and the unicorn moved in close to try to shield him from the worst of the storm. Rupert patted the unicorn's neck gratefully, and glared into the swirling snow. He was worried about the unicorn. The animal was moving more and more slowly as the cold seeped into his bones, and even wrapping him in blankets hadn't helped much. Icy crystals glistened in his mane and tail, and his harsh breathing was becoming as unsteady as his footing.
    Rupert knew that if they didn't find shelter soon, cold and exhaustion would take their toll, and the unicorn would just lie down in the snow and die.
    The storm had fallen on Rupert and his company only a few minutes after they'd left the Darkwood behind them. Dark clouds had gathered as they watched, and the chill evening air grew bitter cold. Rain
    fell in torrents, quickly turning to sleet as the company pressed on into the rising storm. The wind rose, howling and raging, and still Rupert led his men on. He hadn't come this far just to be beaten by the weather.
    He stamped his feet down hard with every step, trying to drive a little warmth into them. The snow fell thickly, filling the air. It was cold, and getting colder. Every now and again Rupert caught a brief glimpse of the blood-red sun, hanging low on the sky, and tried to force himself to move faster. Once the sun had dipped below the horizon, the demons would be loose in the Land. He looked back over his shoulder.
    His guards were trudging steadily after him, huddling together to share their body warmth. The Champion walked by himself, as always. Hoarfrost had covered his armour in silver flurries, but of all the company the cold seemed to affect him the least. His hack was straight, his head erect, and his massive legs carried him tirelessly on through the deepening snowdrifts. Rupert frowned. He ought to have found the sight inspiring, but somehow he didn't. There was something almost inhuman about the Champion's calm refusal to bend to the wind. Rupert looked away, and stared back the way they'd come. The wind dropped suddenly, and the snow parted,